Naprol napra jobban megvagyok gyozodve hogy isten szeret, ha fulem siket is e szeretre, hirvivo angyalt valaszt. Csak nekem formalva hogy mindenkepp megertsem. Íly onzetlen fenseges szeretet vajon kis szivem elbirja majd? Ugy erzem szetrobban, viszonozni szeretnem. Amit ugy tudok a legjobban ha boldogsagommal konyeket csalok szemebe

I replay it in my head

L osing our temper
O verthinking
V iolent words
E xaggerations

Y ou walked
O ut the door
U ncivilly

S till, I wait
T omorrow you might come back
I leave the door unlocked
L isten to our song
L et it play over and over again

I pour another glass

A llowing myself to
L ose my mind
W ondering
A pologizing to myself
Y our voice in my ears
S uffocating my thoughts

W ould it have ended differently
I f I had let you win
L et go of my pride
L ooks like we'll never know

- p. winter

Listen and
I** will tell you
Excellent things and make you believe
Some of it was true

when I'm a wealthy man
I'll spoil you baby
every night we'll drink wine
I'll smoke my favourite cigar brand
we'll isten to to our favourite songs
upon our balcony that overlooks
the beautiful world in which we live
a party every Friday night
friends family and neighbours
will get down on our marble floor
and they will call us the king and queen
of revelry

Farewell, I speak, my love
As I've accepted that we aren't good enough
Reasons to leave are what we saw
Even back then, I had a glimpse of our flaw
Wherever I am, my mind speaks of you
End sooner, I whispered, as the wind blew
Lies that have made still gives me ache
Let the tears dry, there's no more to make

May the memories we've shared stay
You and I would sooner be okay

Listen to my heartbeat for the last time
Only this can shout your name's rhyme
Void of, we should, we must
E**ven the times we only had lust

Someone told me
you can't write (p)oetry ab(o)ut things
you don't want to romanticiz(e).

So for a long (t)ime
(because of w(r)ong people like (y)ou)
I d(i)dn't write drunk,
becau(s)e the(n) I c(o)uldn't
guard my feelings.

But now I'm drunk as hell
and no(t)hing in my life
is close to romantic
and I don't have to explain to you
why (b)oats, oc(e)ans, and words
are the only things
that e(a)se my open wo(u)nds.

I don'(t) have to tell you why
I don't scream or cry or f(i)ght
when I think about how many of my (f)riends
killed themselves.
I write instead,
and it's not romantic.

I am not
in love
with words.

I am
in love
with them
and they're no longer here,
breathing, holding my hand,
and singing me songs about rivers
and how we'll always find each other.

But we won't,
because there's not a
single f(u)cking romantic thing
about how I'll never hold their hands
again.

So I drink,
and I write,
and I do not (l)isten
to people like you.

Hate me,
Envy me,
Love me,
Pity me,

My true self,
Everyone hates,

I am trapped,
Am I delusional?
        
L isten. Read between the lines.
O nly looking, is not believing,
S ecrets are meant to be hidden,
T o the self, most of all,

    If I am insane,
    If that is your verdict,
    I find myself truly wondering
    What do you make of others?

    Consider me a ghost,
    I will pass through walls,
    In my mind, I am invisible,
    Formless, bound to havoc,

    Now it's time, once again,
    To go back into the cave,
    Till this bizzare outcome,
    Comes to an end.